Desperate Hearts
by Ani Anime
Summary: An epic romance in a world where your station in life dictates who you can love and at a time where honor and pledges have meaning. Rated PG-13 for yaoi references
1. Prologue

Dear Readers:

This fic is a trial to try my hand at romance.  This story is written in my favorite style of romantic writing, historical romance.  The wording may sound a bit awkward but it is done to create the feel of time and place—at least that's what I hope to achieve.

In this an epic tale the characters are desperate to find love in a world where your station in life dictates who you can love.  Wufei is portrayed as the antagonist, however make no mistake, I like every Gundam pilot their good attributes as well as their bad.  This story is rated PG-13 yet I caution readers for yaoi content and sexual references.

As always please let me know if you like what you read or even if you don't like it, and why.  Such feed back encourages and helps future projects.

Sincerely,

Ani 

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing and never will however I do enjoy writing fan fics although I don't make a penny off of them (truly).  Gundam Wing is own by Bandia and others.

Desperate Hearts

Prologue 

His fellow travelers leaned against trees and squatted in the shade, some sharing a skin of tepid water.  They looked at the sky and the woods and each other.  They looked anywhere but at the young man standing stubbornly in the road—worrying in silent since the king ruled not these roads; and his delay might draw unwelcome attention.

Remote thunder murmured as heat clouds piled up over the endless grim forests.  It was high summer of the second year after the death of Lord and Lady Barton.  A waiting figure detached itself from the shadows beneath the trees.  The young servant held out her hands to her young lord.  A cool wind whipped pass blowing reddish brown bangs away from the young lord's face.  It was going to rain soon.

"You take no heed of me," he said stubbornly.

"I can not, my Lord Trowa," the servant said.

"Do as I say, I am your lord," the young lord cried.

"Your lordship must be brought to the king.  You need counsel in the ways of such things as lords do."

He lifted his face and looked at the servant.  The wind again blew his hair away showing his dark green eyes.  He was eleven years old and orphaned.  His parents had been killed in a carriage accident two years ago.  Since that time, when he spoke his voice was always whispery soft, now in his pain she had to strain to hear him.

"Why?"

It broke young Catherine's heart to hear his lordship so vulnerable.  Since the accident she had become his big sister and surrogate mother.  Yet she was a servant.  She could not continue to instruct the young lord, hence their journey to the king.

"I love you so steadfast, I think of you as my very brother."

"Then leave me not."  The tears that streamed down his face were unbidden and he probably was unaware of them.  After his parents' death word was sent to their royal majesties, apprising them of the situation.  A reply was received assuring them that the king would see to the young lord's welfare and holding in due course.  The young lord waited and soon days turned to weeks then months to years and still no word from the king.  A second missive was sent and this too received a similar reply telling them the king would see to it yet again no further instructions were sent.

"Silly goose you are our lord.  We shall always be there for you.  Heaveré Arms is your home."

"Swear."

"I swear," she said.

The King's summer court was daunting.  Here the largest mock battles and jousts are held many to determined the outcome of a conflict.  In the shadow of the front stone gate crowds were already gathering for the festivities of the day.  Catherine with Trowa in tow easily traversed through the milling crowd and headed for the palace.  They entered the palace through a massive archway with columns on either side.

The foyer area was beyond the open archway, inside were many fine folk some hoping for an audience with the king and some were looking for royal favor while some just hung about bored looking for gossip.

Trowa noticed that many of the people in there were well dressed and spoke with high lisping voices.  He had been sulking as they made their way to the castle grounds now piqued at all the finery Trowa gaped in fascination.  They placed a request to see the king with one of the pages but were told to wait in the foyer till the king calls for them.

At eleven, Trowa had become more socially aware of those around him.  Many young lords at his age were courting soon to be married.  He had only recently become interested in such things.  Staring at the fancy women around the room Trowa became restless, he could not imagine being married to one of these women or their daughters.

For hours they waited and after a while it became apparent that the king did not see everyone in a days sitting.  In fact, as they listened to the conversation around them they soon realized that there were courtiers that had not been called for weeks.  After the second day of waiting in the foyer to be called, young Trowa had long since lost his fascination with the fancy lords and ladies in the room.

Desperate to leave Trowa decided to sneak pass the guards at the door.  Earlier, he had noticed the pages who came and went into the palace delivering messages to the lords and ladies were no older than he.  He also noted that many of them ate their lunch and dinner by the side entrance.

Trowa watched the young pages and by mid-afternoon he got his break.  A page had taken off his jacket when he went to relieve himself.  Trowa had made sure to wear trousers of similar color and since most of the pages wore black boots he had no trouble getting the appropriate footwear.

With a whispered excuse to Cathy Trowa slipped outside and stole the jacket.  He slipped it on and calmly walked back in.  Catherine was not excepting him back so soon.  She didn't notice him walk passed her.  The guards barely glanced at him.  He went left since this was where most of the pages came from.  He hoped he was headed in the right direction.

So intent on finding the king, Trowa didn't pay attention to where he was going and soon he was hopelessly lost.  Bored he wandered around aimlessly looking at the paintings and art works in the various halls.  Finally he came to a room where he saw a mass of people gathered in a circle.  They were dressed more elaborate then the courtiers waiting in the foyer.

Trowa stepped in his eyes going up to the impressive glass dome ceiling.  He was in an atrium.  A silence brought his attention back to the group.  They had noticed his entrance and had watched him gawking at the ceiling.  One of the men gave Trowa a brief scornful lift of his brow then turned to the person next to him to whisper.  He paltry act had caused a space to opened from around the center of the group.  He saw her.

There in the very center of the group a lady paused.  She glanced at him as she might glance at mongrels scrapping.  Truly a high born lady—mayhap a princess from the richness of her dress and jewels.  Even surrounded by her attendants, male and female, she remained secluded.

Cold…and as her look skimmed past him, his whole body caught fire.  He bowed his head respectfully.  When he lifted it, the open space had closed.  Still he could see her within the radius of her courtiers.  They were young most around his own age yet they all seemed far older.  As he watched the group he caught glimpses of her.  Since none in her group would look his way again he allowed himself to stare.

She carried her self with grace and charm indifferent to all those around her.  Her throat and face gleamed pale against her aqua robes.  She wore a design he had never seen in his life.  The front of her robes formed a V and ended in what seemed to be a split skirt women wore for riding.  Embroidered throughout the pure white inner robes were aqua stones each as big as his pinky nail.  As she moved glimpses of pale skin was revealed.

Trowa watched her hands, because he could not bear to look long at her face and did not dare scan her body for its violent effect on him.  He had only recently become aware of his maturing body so he was unprepared for the effect just looking at her caused.

As she moved she flashed with blue-green fire.  She turned lifting a finger to gesture—a feminine gesture, a delicate move that commanded and condemned him to an agony of desire.  Memorized he followed the group.

He followed behind carefully keeping his distance.  As he watched the group turn down the hall up ahead he was seized from behind.  A dagger was pressed against his neck.  It was the lady.  She had hung back to catch him unawares.  She only came up to his chin but her fierce glaze dispelled any notion of meekness.

"Who are you?"

She voice was soft yet it had a masculine sound to it.  Trowa frowned.  This time he boldly looked down the body in front of him.  He couldn't comprehend what he was seeing.  He couldn't at that moment have described her features, any more than he could have looked straight at the sun to describe it.  He did however start to realize that this was no woman.

"Are you male?"  He breathed his voice more an accusation than a question.  "I thought you a woman."

"Hope you to rape some female?"

The beautiful man flicked a hand through his hair.  It was a delicate motion and commended attention.  Now that Trowa had looked at him.  Truly saw him, he could not tear his glaze away from the beautiful man that hovered so near him.

"Is that want you want?"

Trowa saw a slight smile curve his lips.  A smile so cold it leeched into his eyes making their blue green color sparkle like sunlight on ice.  He was bright cold.  Trowa burned.  It mattered not that he was male.

"No, I wanted this," Trowa answered reaching out a hand to touch him.  

Unbidden, his fingers slipped in to the V of the other's robes.  He felt soft skin.  They both paused staring at each other and time seemed to stop.  Suddenly the other jerked away from Trowa—he gave him a cold dispassionate look of distaste before stalking off.  Trowa stood there weak kneed long after he had left.

"Trowa," Catherine's voice startled him.  She was there berating him for sneaking off.  The ensuing search for his person had brought their plight to a distant family member.  Since the wait for an audience could take weeks he had generously offered his aid.  They had an assignment to meet with him on the morrow.

The next day after breaking their fast the two went to the west wing of the palace.  There peers of the realm who could afford such luxuries were granted accommodations.  The royal accommodations were superb.  They sat in a narrow hall with cream colored walls.  The doors had crests made with gold gilt.

Like the king, Lord Dekim Barton kept them waiting.  Trowa waited with a deep uneasiness inside him.  He truly did not want this.  He did not want to have a guardian.

Lord Dekim had known of his circumstances before so why now was he interested in offering him aid.  Trowa had voiced his suspicions to Catherine.  She had to told him not to be ungrateful.  Lord Dekim did not have to bother with him.  He wished there was another way he could learn to be a lord.  He dreaded the appointment.

After an hour's wait three clerks came for them.  They took them through the heavy wooden doors and past many rooms.  They led them to the very atrium Trowa had found before.  The room was empty except for a long table and the lord.  No food was set on the table only a pot of tea and a single place setting.  Lord Dekim sipped his tea elegantly before addressing them.

"Trowa Barton," a rich deep timbered voice spoke.  The old wizen face gave Trowa the impression of greatness.  "Is it your will to pledge your services to me?  To live under my care henceforth?"

Trowa stared into pale blue eyes.  Pledge?  Catherine had never said anything about taking a pledge.  And was he to leave?  Never see home again?

Trowa looked to his servant confused.  "Can I do that? Can I pledge myself to another?" he asked her.

"Your servant is excused.  Wait for your lord outside," Lord Dekim said.

Catherine curtsied and left without answering Trowa's question.  He watched her leave nervously suddenly feeling vulnerable.  The three clerks for the lord were at the door.  He felt surround by strangers

"You can always pledge yourself to your betters," the lord informed him.  His annoyance at being questioned was evident in his voice.  "Your servant said that you were bereft, that her master and mistress had passed.  That the king has yet to appointed you a guardian."

For a moment Trowa imaged lying denying Catherine's advice.  He could head back home and live alone amongst a sea of servants.  He was old enough.  He didn't need a guardian.

"Yes my lord," Trowa spoke.  His face down cast, no he could not deny his responsibilities.  He needed not only a guardian but someone who could manage the finances.  He could not longer pay his servants.  The monies his parents left him were gone. 

"I am willing to take you into my household," Lord Dekim told him.  "You are willing to leave your holding and become my ward?"

Trowa stared helplessly at the lord.  "Your ward?"

"Of course, we are practically family," the old lord answered.  "You want family don't you."

"Yes, my lord."  Trowa knew well to answer that in a firm voice.

"In obedience to me," the lord said. "Will you live dutifully within my household?"

"Certainly," he mumbled, starting at the floor.  "My lord."

"Good, then I shall take your pledge and have the papers drawn," the lord nodded in approval.  "I have a young granddaughter she will enjoy the companionship."

The lord paused for a moment thoughtful.  He seemed to look him over a frown on his face as if he was remembering something.  "Young Trowa are you chaste?"

"Chaste?"

"You do know what that means."

"Yes, my lord," Trowa said taken aback at the bold question.

"So are you?"

"Absolutely."

"Oh, I think not," said a soft masculine voice.  "He is not chaste.  Indeed he is quite depraved."

Trowa stiffened at this astonishing accusation.  "Nay, I am not—"  His fierce denial died on his tongue as he turned to find the richly dressed young man from before.  He was standing barely a handsbreadth from him.  His entourage was respectfully behind watching the proceeding with malicious interest.  The clerks at the door were bowed respectfully.

He strolled towards them, sliding a glance at him over his shoulder.  Lord Dekim stood and bowed respectfully.

His eyes were bright aqua blue matching the color of his shirt.  He dressed as flamboyant and as shameless as before.  The soft V shape blouse gaped showing his soft chest and stomach.  The silky pants hugged his slim hips and flared widely at the bottom like a skirt.

Trowa felt his face aflame.  "I am not depraved!" he whispered hoarsely.

"I apologize that I have interrupted your appointment."  The young beautiful lord said ignoring Trowa.  "My Lord Dekim, I wished only to spare you the mistake of taking a pledge from this young man.  Yesterday he dressed himself as a page and accosted me in these very halls.  He thought I was female."

The last comment brought a smattering of soft snickers from behind him.  The courtiers were enjoying the play unfolding around them.  Trowa was mortified.  But he could not deny it.  He had followed him.  He had desired him with such an inordinate passion that he didn't care he was male—his eyes met the young lord as he step slightly away—he read absolute knowledge there; he could lay him bare, exposed his lecherous touch to all.

"I am grieved to hear this," Lord Dekim said sounding particularly disturbed.  "Your usually style of fashion can cause one confusion however your concern is well-taken.  Trowa is this true?  Did you commit this misdeed?"

He could not bring himself to answer, not here in front of everyone.  Not in front of him.  The silence lengthened condemning him.  Trowa closed his eyes.  He nodded his head slightly.

Heated whispers filled the room from the courtiers behind him.  The lord in front of him breathed heavily.  "I cannot take you into my household, however once you become my ward I will see to your instruction.  You will have to stay at another of my holdings.

"That won't be necessary my Lord Dekim for you see this young man will not be permitted to stay at court.  I'm quite sure you would not want to earn my father's disapproval by aiding someone banished from court."

Lord Dekim looked a taken aback.  He frowned at the pale blond and gave him another bow, "no of course not."  He looked at Trowa frowning then seemed to make a decision.  "By your leave my lord," he said to the beautiful man.  Then without another word he left.

Trowa stood there stiff in humiliation as he heard the other leave the room.  He couldn't move such was his mortification.  A soft cough at his shoulder caused him to open his eyes.  He turned towards the sound.

There stood his tormentor.  The young man held out a little pouch.  Trowa didn't take it so the other tossed it to him.  Instinctively Trowa caught it.

"I am a generous soul, now hie yourself from this place.  Hire yourself a councilor, a steward, a cleric especially a cleric."  His comment was met with another round of snickers.  "They can give you proper instruction."

Trowa clutched the pouch, he was tempted to tossed it back at the other with no good grace.  He trembled with pride.  It was futile pride he knew it.  He bowed submissively to the young man.  Truly he had wrong him.

"I am forever your servant."  He swore.

"Yes, you truly are," the beautiful man, said ominously.


	2. Chapter 1

Dear Readers:

This fic is a trial to try my hand at romance.  This story is written in my favorite style of romantic writing, historical romance.  The wording may sound a bit awkward but it is done to create the feel of time and place—at least that's what I hope to achieve.

In this an epic tale the characters are desperate to find love in a world where your station in life dictates who you can love.  Wufei is portrayed as the antagonist, however make no mistake, I like every Gundam pilot their good attributes as well as their bad.  This story is rated PG-13 yet I caution readers for yaoi content and sexual references.

As always please let me know if you like what you read or even if you don't like it, and why.  Such feed back encourages and helps future projects.

Sincerely,

Ani 

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing and never will however I do enjoy writing fan fics although I don't make a penny off of them (truly).  Gundam Wing is own by Bandia and others.

Desperate Hearts

**Part 1**

A great cry filled the hall.  It was winter solstice—the Great Pestilence was twenty years gone.  A smaller second bout had past just a decade ago and on the border rumors that Wufei Chang, a duke of the Eastern plains, was aggressively taking over villages plus another outbreak of the dreaded Black Death was being whispered about.  Yet such dire tidings seemed to have little effect on the revelers.

Trumpeters and musicians danced in front of the servers carrying huge platters of dishes.  Cakes stacked high were covered in garlands and cherries. Whole ducks stuffed arranged to look like they were still in flight.  Each display was more extravagant than the other.

Duke Dermay sat with languid elegance at the high table, watching critically as the musicians herald the first course.  On his right sat Prince Quatre Rabberbera Winner, his most high and honored guest.

Prince Quatre overlooked the proceedings with bored indifference.  Dressed in his usual colors of aqua and white he stood out next to the darkly dressed duke and his somberly dressed granddaughter.  The duke's colors were gray and black.

"Does his highness like our marvelous entertainers?" Duke Dermay asked leaning closer to the prince.

Prince Quatre gave him a cool glance.  "Marvelous?"  He murmured in a bored tone.  "I expect no less than an acrobat or a juggler before the sweets."

The duke grinned as he signaled for a page to fill his wine cup.  "A street performer too commonplace.  No, give us a more difficult task, my prince."

Quatre hid his annoyance.  The duke was trying to impress him for his granddaughter, Lady Dorothy Catalonia.  The lady sat quietly next to Quatre seeming a pale blond shadow to his rich blond tones.  It was a pretense that was not lost on Quatre.  The woman was a shrew, a harridan in dove's feathers.  Quatre was not interested even if he could marry.  Yet the duke would not be snubbed and he would not be put off.  He took his coldness as a challenge, his reluctance as mere princely hauteur.

"Then, sir give him my royal colors," he said smoothly.  To his vexation the duke laughed out loud.

"An acrobatic performance in your princely colors you shall have," he signaled to an attendant and leaned back to speak in the servant's ear.  He gave Quatre a sidelong smile.  "Before sweets, my prince."

Prince Quatre sipped his wine.  Already he knew the extravagance of this festival in his honor would have spread across the countryside.  The duke was an old man but still full of energy.  His son was dead leaving him only a granddaughter.  If she married a strong willed man the duke would lose power to control his own holdings.  No, he wanted a weak husband, a flop, yet a highborn with enough wealth to discourage gossip.  Everyone expected even accepted it but to court Prince Quatre?

He could almost hear the whispers as he sat there next to the duke on the dais.  He was considered effeminate and sterile.  He had never once begotten his wife of several years with child.  He was also so beautiful that many thought him female.  He was said to possess such a beautiful continence that other princes had approached him for marriage.

Quatre had heard it all, knew what they spoke as well as if he sat among them.  Still the Duke paid him homage with barely concealed interest in his attentions.  Quatre knew what they were saying about that to.  Some believed that the duke was interested in Quatre, that the duke wanted a dalliance with the beautiful prince.

Quatre let his glaze wander to two knights sitting on one of the lower tables.  They had been trying not to openly gawk at him.  He gave them a long dispassionate stare and had the pleasure of watching them blush and squirm under his attentive glaze.  He was please his reputation proceeded him.

The satisfaction did not last long.  He could not marry Lady Dorothy.  Before the feast was over he had to find some excuse, some way to spurn the match.  When he looked out upon the trestles, Quatre saw the assassin who watched him, silent and deadly in his own household colors of aqua and white.

Heero Yuy was spawned from the Wufei Chan clan.  A secret warden placed upon him.  Only by the mastery of long practice did he maintain the cold exterior against the frantic beat of his heart.

As the platters were brought out the duke allowed Quatre to choose first from the delicacies to serve his granddaughter.  Quatre swallowed his anger.  Had the man no sense.  His father already forbade him to remarry.  He was the 29th child and a very far removed heir so gathering too much land and wealth was dangerous to him.  He had told the duke so but the old lord was determined to try.  None could truly blame him for that.  A marriage to Lady Dorothy would be a brilliant match for the tip of his southern border march together with the Duke's lands.  The sum of their lands would rival his oldest siblings.

The Chang man, Heero, stood up from his seat, mingling with servants as they passed up and down the hall.  It was a game of hints and inklings between him and Heero Yuy—a language of act and counteract.  Heero moved closer, warning him, reminding him of his agreement with Chang and his peril if he thought to wed again, especially into as powerful a family as this.

As the duke honored him, Quatre had to personally serve the duke's granddaughter.  As he placed the choicest pieces into their shared trencher Quatre caught a glimpse of a slim figure in aqua and white hose amongst the throng below.  Duo Maxwell lounged at the edge of the hall, near the great hearth, his chestnut hair and bright hues blending into the shapes and figures around him.  The young man was looking towards the dais.  As Quatre fed the lady a piece of meat, Duo smiled directly at him.

It was his sweet smile, charming and sly.  Quatre stared at him a moment.

He had done something.  Quatre looked again for the assassin wearing his own colors.  Heero was still there still observing from a distance.  Duo had not slain or expelled him.  That did not mean that the young man had not bloodied his hands in some other way.

Quatre was torn between anger and relief.  He had his own agreement with Chang.  He did not acknowledge Duo with more than a brief nod reserving his pleasure.  Duo made a face of mock disappointment, then lifted his chin in silent mirth.  A pair of servants bore huge platters past him.  When they had moved on he was gone.  For such a loud person his stealth was surprising. 

The trumpeters sounded.

Quatre looked up startled.  They could not yet herald the last course.  Over the hum of gossip and feasting came the shouts of men outside the hall.  His hand dropped instinctively to his dagger as the slap of hands and feet on tile rang against walls.  People dashed, servers scattered out of the way and an apparition burst thought the thong dressed in aqua and white.  A slim young man half his face covered in a mask leaped over tables.  He jumped and flew through the air his feet and hands landing effortlessly on the tabletops and chair rims.  Nothing could catch him as he flipped and dived toward the dais.  No one hampered him as he somersaulted onto their table.  His costume was form fitting but modest with bright streamers of Quatre's colors.  He bow low then back flipped off the table.  His fluid movements were nearly inhuman.

Quatre's hand relaxed slightly on the dagger as he realized that this was no attack.  He also realized that only he was standing.  It was too late to sit down and hide his reaction.  Everyone stared and after their first startlement, no one appeared dismayed.  At the edge of his vision he could see the duke grinning.

"My prince," the duke said in the utter stillness.  "Your acrobat, your royal colors, as I promised."

"As you promised," Quatre said.

"My prince," said the acrobat.  His soft melodic voice was pleasing to hear.

"A good fighter, he came for the bout."  The duke informed Quatre with a lazy gesture in the acrobat's direction.  "He keeps to himself and will not share his true identity with anyone."

"Duke Dermay I made a vow," the acrobat replied.

"Yes, I remember.  Not until you are proven worthy, was it?  At least removed your mask and grace our guest with an unfettered face."

The acrobat hesitated for only a moment.  Then he seized his mask and pulled it off.  The aqua and white streamers fluttered as he placed it under his arm.  Quatre got a glimpse of two dark green eyes before a fall of reddish brown hair covered half his face.

His face was narrow and clean shaven.  He was tall and whip cord thin but not skinny.  The duke claimed he was a good fighter.  Quatre had an abiding respect for someone with such a slim stature being able to contest against much larger fellows.  He felt the urge to smile but he stifled that response and did not do it.

"Your desired acrobat.  I give him to you," the duke said in high good humor.  "He is yours to command."

The man lifted his head slightly.  His face was immobile.  A faint tickle of significance stirred in Quatre.  A fleeting thought he could not catch.  The acrobat had a looked of extremity on him, some pent up emotion far more intense than mere playacting for a guest.

"What will you, my prince," the duke asked.  "Shall we have him balance on one hand or juggle the candelabras?"

The acrobat glanced at Quatre for an instant, then away, as if the contact burned him.  With an abrupt move he yanked one glove from his hand and threw it down before the company.

"A challenge!" he shouted.  He turned about the hall addressing the room.  "For the honor of serving the prince."

The duke went stiff at the announcement.  "No sir," he snapped.  "Such is not your place to appoint yourself his champion."

The acrobat ignored the duke.  "Is this the court of Dermay?" he said.  "Who will fight me for the honor of my prince?"

His voice echoed in the stunned silence of the hall.  They stared at him as if he had lost his senses.  But comprehension stirred upon Quatre.  This was the source of Duo's mirth.  The wretch had orchestrated this.

"Cease this nonsense!" the duke roared.  "It does you no little credit, sir!"

The acrobat had dropped his veneer of submissive respect.  His gaze hit Quatre and skewed away again.  He went down on one knee before him.  "My prince!"  Over the edge of the table Quatre could see that he held his bare hand against his heart.  The streamers of the mask dangling down his arm.  "I crave of you, do me this ease—give me something as a sign of your welcome—so I may prove my worthiness to you."

"You shall not do so!" the duke declared his voice rising.  "The Dermay family carries the prince's favor, impudent scoundrel."

Quatre seized the moment.  He slanted the duke a cool look.  "Is that so?" he questioned softly.

The duke glanced at him, his face glowing red.  "I—" His jaw went taunt.  "If my prince pleases?"

Quatre gave him a cold smile.  He completely ignored his granddaughter.  He caught the loose folds of his silk belt.  As he slipped the material from around his waist the little bells that graced the end of the cloth chimed gently.  He looked at the duke for a long pregnant moment then tossed the favor to the kneeing man.  The bells chimed softly as they landed in front of him.

"I give thee for a keepsake, to prove your worthiness to me."

"I challenge for it, on my duke's behalf!" cried Duke Dermay's best fighter.  His voice was echoed as others shouted for the honor.

"Enough," shouted the duke.  "It shall be arranged tomorrow.  Rise then insolent fellow," the duke said to the acrobat.  He waved a hand dismissing him.

The acrobat came to his feet.  His eyes down cast again.  He bowed but before he could leave Quatre addressed him.

"I look forward to such a spectacle.  Go and refresh yourself then attend me in my chamber when dinner is done."

"As my prince wishes," he intoned automatically.  He bowed and in a breath slipped passed the fighters below.

"A most marvelous acrobat," Quatre said with amusement.  "My grace is kind to put him at my service."

*     *     *

He didn't remember me, Trowa thought.

As Trowa viciously bit into an apple, small bits broke and dropped onto his bare chest, causing his horse, Hawk, to nuzzle him for the treat.  Trowa pushed him away gently.  He had been force to bath and dress in the stables.  The kitchens were too hectic to service him with such an impromptu request.  He had no time to sit down to a proper meal.  His prince—his liege lord, the owner of his heart—commanded him immediately after the dinner.  He barely had time for a bath before the trumpets signified the lords' retirement from the hall.

He felt light-headed.  The apple seemed to choke him.  It was almost too fantastical to believe that it was him.  That he was here.  He hardly knew how to fathom the fact, or what he had just done for him.  Hie! The duke's face, Trowa could not bear to think of it.

That he didn't remember him he couldn't settle that in his mind.  His young courtier in the aqua and white tights had said he sent him a command to challenge the duke for his favor.  He had looked upon him in the hall as if he knew his vow.  As if he expected his obedience.  He had a wild thought that he had known all there was to know of him since that day he had first seen him, that his every move for ten years had somehow been open to him.  Those eyes of his had knew.

"Ho, lo! See," said a feminine voice.  "He is not some sprite from the forest."

Trowa looked up from belting his hose to find a pair of ladies leaning in the stable door.  He didn't know either of them.  He dropped the apple from his mouth and caught it in one hand.  As he bowed, he grabbed his tunic hoping to cover his bare chest.  "A common man only, madams."

The one who had spoke giggled.  The other a dark brunette came on, she was interested bold, she traced him with her forefinger from the base of his throat to his waist.  "Your form gives lie to that, sir.  You are uncommon strong and brave to proclaim such a challenge."

He lightly clasped her hand and lifted it away from him.  "Only for the honor of my prince," he said evenly.  She was not put off.

"Such wild daring," she murmured lifting her mouth.  "We have heard much of your ferocity in battle.  Stay and tell us more."

He looked down on her offered lips, the soft smile tempted him not.  He was already pledged.  He held up the apple, brushed her cheek with the rosy smooth skin and pressed the fruit into her fingers, setting her away from him.  "Accept this and I will know I've share a sweet with a gracious lady."

She looked piqued but she stepped back.  "The prince you know him," she asked taking a bite of the apple.

"I know him," he said.

"Then know to accept no apples of love from that one.  His wife die fleeing from him and his open relationship to a powerful Eastern lord."

Trowa stiffened.  "Madam—it were better that you spoke truth on your tongue."

"Oh, I speak true enough," she said airily.  "Ask anyone.  His father, the king, banished him from court for his indiscretion."

"They say the queen could only produce daughters."  The other woman chimed in.  "Many believe he is not truly a man.  That is why he's a sodomite."

"He is unnatural," said the dark haired one.  "He's a sorcerer.  He bewitched a prince to steal his manhood."

"No," he objected as he pulled on his tunic.  "He is a prince.  I am his man."

"Have you sworn to him," the brunette asked stepping back.

"Yes, I am his man."

"No, you don't mean to be serious in this?"

Trowa stared back, eyes level showing nothing.  "I am sworn to him.  I am honored with his gift.  I fight for him."

The women withdrew with sidelong glances.  Trowa finished dressing.  He threw his mantle round his shoulders and stabbed a pin though the cloth.  When he looked up he was alone.

"He is not unnatural," Trowa snapped.  "_He is my prince!_"


	3. Chapter 2

Dear Readers:

This fic is a trial to try my hand at romance.  This story is written in my favorite style of romantic writing, historical romance.  The wording may sound a bit awkward but it is done to create the feel of time and place—at least that's what I hope to achieve.

In this an epic tale the characters are desperate to find love in a world where your station in life dictates who you can love.  Wufei is portrayed as the antagonist, however make no mistake, I like every Gundam pilot their good attributes as well as their bad.  This story is rated PG-13 yet I caution readers for yaoi content and sexual references.

As always please let me know if you like what you read or even if you don't like it, and why.  Such feed back encourages and helps future projects.

Sincerely,

Ani 

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing and never will however I do enjoy writing fan fics although I don't make a penny off of them (truly).  Gundam Wing is own by Bandia and others.

Desperate Hearts

**Part 2**

"Tell me," Quatre said softly.  "Full of your own shrewdness, you are."

Duo rested against the curve of the spiraling stairwell, his arms crossed, grinning down at him from two steps above.  The torch light flickers around them casting shadows.

"Your acrobat is invincible, my prince," he whispered, taunting him as much as possible.  "He will win tomorrow."

"Will he?" he laughed.  "They have sent half their soldiers against my poor champion."

"You miscalculate your fighter.  They say he is a berserker."

"Berserker," Quatre said, gazing at Duo thoughtfully.  "How know you of such?"

"Why in the court yard, in preparation of the bout tomorrow.  Known as pure and courteous, he is well liked by the common men.  He keeps to himself has a small elite group of fighters at his command, a chapel and does not traffic with ladies.  But when they ordered him to play your acrobat because of his known fluid grace…I thought to take him aside.  My prince, and tell him of your wishes.

"My wishes," Quatre lifted a pale blond eyebrow.

"You wish to bestow your favor on him, my prince," Duo smile angelically.  "Did you not?  But he would have none of it.  I feared—until I walked with him past the hall.  I caused him to look upon you my lord and graciousness, I only wish you might have seen his face."

"What was in his face?" Quatre asked sharply.

Duo leaned his head back against the curving wall.  "Indifference.  And then—" He paused.  "But what does my lord prince care of his thoughts?  He is only a commoner."

Quatre narrowed his eyes on Duo.  He stepped forward and gave Duo a lingering look that was gentle and suggestive.  Duo did not change his lazy stance but he did give him a nervous half smile.

"Indifference, my prince," he said more respectfully, "until he had a fair sight of you.  And then he became just such a witless lover as we needed to discouraged the duke's intentions."

"Didst you promise him anything," the prince asked coldly.

"My prince the sight of you is promise enough for many a man or woman," Duo murmured.  "I made none but I can not vouch for what blissful hopes he might have in his own mind."

Quatre regarded him for a long time.  Duo looked young though they were close in age.  He was a very pretty young man with long chestnut hair.  His bluish-purple eyes were always bright with laughter—laughter that echoed from him as he killed.  He had the face of an angel, the heart of a demon with the soul of a devil.

Under Quatre's perusal he stirred nervously.  Duo dreaded not on the earth but three things: the plague, being violated and Heero Yuy.  Violation was the only thing Quatre could use against him, for he had no mastery of the plague and none over Heero Yuy.

When Quatre's wife had passed suspiciously the young prince found himself drawn into a territorial battle over lands that bordered the ancient holdings of the clans from the east.  His father-in-law had managed his daughter's land but the man had died mere weeks before.

Quatre's father would not trust such a far removed heir with an army to defend the large holding he now possessed.  Instead Quatre had to bargain with Wufei Chan—for amnesty against his aggressive movements along the border areas.  He agreed that he would cast a blind eye to such activities.  In order to seal the bargain Quatre took Duo as a gift and Heero Yuy into his service.  The first was because Wufei thought he was a sodomite, the second because Wufei didn't trust him.

"Your interference displeases me," he said to Duo.  "You do not understand the rules of such a challenge—it has done nothing to discourage the duke.  In fact he now can prove his proposal as just.  These border lords believe that to win a fight is to prove ones self.  It shall be harder to sprun his offer."

"I know not of these foolish border customs," Duo said with scorn.  "Yet if you speak true—should your fighter win—then ye can live as you choose.  Then you may take your acrobat and hie off to somewhere private uncontested." 

"Are you perchance spurning my love?" Quatre asked innocently.

Duo eyes widen in alarm then narrow suddenly.  He tossed a look over his shoulder turned and sprinted soundlessly into the darkness.  Alone Quatre stood on the stairs.  He waited a moment then slowly cautiously moved towards a dark doorway.

"Come, my prince." Duo's ghostly voice drifted, beckoning him.  Quatre took a breath and stepped though the door.

Duo knelt over a pale form lit in moonlight.  As he came closer he could see no blood but knew that the man was dead.  Duo looked up waiting for his instruction he was smiling softly.

"To my water closet," he told him.  "I will make sure none disturbs us.  He left Duo stripping the assassin of his royal colors.

Quatre moved quickly back down the stairs to the chapel where hence he came from after supper.  He demanded sweet honeyed wine and flowers.  When he was certain they were about his request he returned.

Duo had waited in the darkness his prey stripped naked at his feet.  He hefted the body to his shoulder, adept at that too though he staggered a little beneath the weight.  "Fat border swine," he muttered.  He flashed Quatre a grin over the pale legs of the dead man.

The prince stood back with an unforgiving stare.  This made Duo smile even brighter.  Bravado, perhaps, or real amusement, it was no more possible to know his true feelings.

Duo struggled more as he worked the corpse into the privy well taking extra measure to insure body would not wedge in the fall.  With a loud splash it fell.  It had not wedged.

*     *     *

The prince held audience amid silks and jewels, surrounded by exotic courtiers.  The room was scented with perfumes and of course he did not remember him.  He did not even looked up when his entranced was announced.

The young prince was choosing a bauble to wear to bed.  His servant held a jewelry case out for him.  He merely lifted a hand and signal to Trowa to approach one side of the bed.

The long haired man that had carried the prince's command that he challenge for him sat sprawled on the other side.  Trowa looked straight ahead, still from the edge of his vision he could see the other staring at him.

The prince choose a medallion, the long haired man moved at his side reaching around him to fasten the chain at his throat.  He stroked the soft hair at his neck, kissing his shoulder as he did it.  He watched Trowa as he caressed him.

"Looked my beloved prince," he said as he kissed his ear.  "Yon acrobat wants you."

"So much the worst for him," Quatre said indifferently.

Trowa had made the mistake of glancing down at the pair.  Both had changed and were wearing fine silks of pale white.  The prince's long dressing gown was open to the waist.  The sheer material could not hide the pale skin underneath.  The prince's companion was wearing even less his dressing grown only came down to his knees.  Trowa felt the room suddenly grow warm.

"Only looked at him, my prince!"  The other was grinning in delight at Trowa.  "He wishes to touch you as I do.  Just so—" He slipped his arms around Quatre's waist never taking his purple eyes from Trowa.

The prince brushed him away.  "Come, leave your mischief.  Wish to sharpen your claws on him, do you?  Play then but recall that he is of use to me."  He turned for one instant and met Duo's eyes.  "Kill him not, or I shall set Heero upon you."

This threat had a salutary effect upon the young man.  He glanced at the exotic courtier standing quietly to the side.  "My prince," he said submissively, drawing away from him.

"Brush my hair," Quatre commanded of him.

In silence he took up the brush and gently worked it though the prince's hair.  As he worked Quatre lifted a hand beckoning Trowa closer.  He moved to the edge of the bed lowering himself to one knee.

Quatre laughed.  "Truly, thou art the most courteous fighter."  He had never met someone so devoted, for a second he almost believed Duo's ridiculous tale.  "I will stand when the trumpeters herald your presence upon the field.  You must wear my favor for the entry—then I wish it back."

"Yes, my prince."

"Excellent," Quatre said stopping Duo's administrations with an impatient flick of his wrist.  He then ordered the servant to bring him a cup of honeyed wine.  The young man obeyed quickly.  The prince seemed pleased.

"Sweet Duo, Heero I would not give you to."

Trowa stayed silent.  The prince looked at him full for the first time, scanned him from face to foot in the manner a hosteller might assess a horse.  A faint smile played at his lips as he looked into his eyes.

"Word has come to my ear that you are ruthless in combat and has never lost a bout for the duke's revels," he murmured.  "I would like to see that."

"I shall endeavor to please my prince," Trowa answered automatically.

He snuck a glance up at the prince.  He was flawless like an angel.  Trowa wanted to look away but it was impossible the pale radiance of him would not be denied.  The irony was not lost of Trowa.  The prince was far from angelic.  His prince was selfish and cruel.  His request set Trowa in the sorest dilemma a man could be placed.  He was set to challenge a duke for the favor of the royal prince in his own holding nonetheless.

Yet he would serve.  He was his sworn lord.  Beyond doubt or motive he would obey him.  It was not his place to ask for reason, even if he did not remember him.

And he did not.  When he looked at him so negligently, he was certain, almost certain, that he did not.

A sack of jewels must be not be much to such as he as he would have been much not so long ago, a preposterous boy, no one, a nothing.  Still why did he ask for him, if he did not remember?

The prince bent his head to take a sip from the gold goblet and paused before he tasted it.  He stared into the wine for a long moment, his pale lashes faint against his skin.  When he looked up, it was towards the exotic guardsman and the handful of servants.

"You wilt be valiant in my name on the morrow," he murmured, glancing back towards Trowa over the rim of his cup.

Trowa bowed his head.

"See that it is so."  With a gesture he dismissed him.  Trowa turned from the sight of Duo leaning forward to kneed his shoulders.

At the door he stopped, looked back.  "My prince," he said quietly."

Quatre glanced up, lifting his pale brows.

"Such as he could not kill me," Trowa said nodding towards Duo.  That said he turned and walked out.  He could hear Duo's hiss of displeasure.

As the knight departed, Duo leaned forward resting his chin of Quatre's shoulder.  Quatre lifted the cup of wine to his mouth and said, "share with me."

"My prince," he murmured, "I prefer your own sweetness."

Quatre tilted his head back, allowing him to trace his mouth upon his lips, cheeks and nose.  With a languid move he held out the cup to the servants and lay full back into the other.  A servant came and instantly took the vessel from him.  The group of servants bowed and quietly left the room.  Knowing their prince's passions they left quickly.

Heero trailed behind of group—a dark shadow, a silent threat—he turned giving the couple a blank look before closing the door.  Though Quatre had his head turned away and his eyes closed he could sense underlying emotions roiling just under the surface from him.

Duo put his mouth against his ear and the second after the door closed.  "Heero," he hissed.

Quatre pushed him away and sat up.  The moment he was certain they were alone he suffered his touch no more.  "Your mind is occupied past reason with that one.  First, you claim he is an excellent fighter, inhumanly strong.  Now, he is a fool stupid enough to try and poison me with a strong smelling toxin."

"He is no fool," Duo said firmly.  "He means to betray his cousin Wufei.  He knows that Wufei would not suspect him if you were poisoned.  Especially by such a simple trick, let me kill him."

"Already you have killed.  We are guests.  Our benefactor would not look kindly upon it and may even report it to my father."

"This time it was poison the next time might not be so easily detectable."

Quatre looked down at the table where the servant had placed the wine.  If he died then his father would have control of his lands since he had no heirs.  This was the last thing Wufei wanted to happen so he gave him Heero.  Heero was to protect him.  He was one of Wufei's best fighters.  It made no sense.  Wufei Chang gave him two things, one was to protect the other to placate.  Yet both seemed at odds with the other.  He would wait for soon he would be rid of them both.


	4. Chapter 3

Dear Readers:

This fic is a trial to try my hand at romance.  This story is written in my favorite style of romantic writing, historical romance.  The wording may sound a bit awkward but it is done to create the feel of time and place—at least that's what I hope to achieve.

In this an epic tale the characters are desperate to find love in a world where your station in life dictates who you can love.  Wufei is portrayed as the antagonist, however make no mistake, I like every Gundam pilot their good attributes as well as their bad.  This story is rated PG-13 yet I caution readers for yaoi content and sexual references.

As always please let me know if you like what you read or even if you don't like it, and why.  Such feed back encourages and helps future projects.

Sincerely,

Ani 

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing and never will however I do enjoy writing fan fics although I don't make a penny off of them (truly).  Gundam Wing is own by Bandia and others.

Desperate Hearts

 **Part 3**

The tournament procession poured out into a great meadow, where a field of color lined the entry to the waiting participants.  Across the span vivid tents of orange, blue, scarlet and yellow form small castles with flying pennants from their multitude of peaks.

The lords bore across the fields with trumpet blasts.  Prince Quatre road past, he looked neither right nor left at the crowd surrounding the honored spots.  He was seated between the duke and lady Dorothy in the center most pavilion.

The games began so after.  A bored and anxious crowd watched the younger and smaller combatants.  There was a tension in the air as the spectators waited for the main challenge to happen.  Quatre suffered though the other matches with barely concealed tolerance, he was anxious to see this champion of his.

"I weary of these trials," Quatre said in an insipid and bored tone.

"These are good fighters, my prince," the duke said.  "They have practice long for today."

As the next challenger walked onto the field the crowd suddenly became quiet.  He was lithe and strong.  He wore the mask from before yet this time he was shirtless.  His chest was painted white and aqua.  He skin was hairless and smooth yet very muscular.  The stockings he wore were also the prince's colors.  Tied around his waist was the prince's favor.  Quatre found himself standing before he knew it.

The silence ended as the duke's fighter walked out onto the field.  A murmur rose from the crowd in favor of the duke's man.  Quatre sat as the two circled each other.  They fought with long knives.  Their arms crossed.  The ring of steel echoed as the blades clashed.  Trowa danced away keeping himself in a favorable position.

Again the again the two cross long knives.  Spark flew and they collided.  With a jerk Quatre's acrobat reached out and grabbed the other turning so that he flipped him over a shoulder.  The duke's man flew though the air.  He landed with a loud thud the knife flying from his hand.

The prince's challenger backed away to allow the other time to recover.  The duke's man retrieved his knife and with a growl flew at Trowa.  His blade whirred past Trowa's mid section suddenly dipping down and slicing open his hose from hip to thigh.

Trowa defended turning the blunt end of the blade to his attacker.  He struck the duke's man sound across the helm.  The man went down bleeding at the temple.  The fight ended.

Quatre sat calmly between the duke and his granddaughter as his challenger smashed the pretensions of five more challengers.  The acrobat was handily trouncing all comers.  Prince Quatre sighed watching the next challenger get equal trounced.  He knew that the duke was privately furious.

"Has he some magic or be your men all weak as willows," Quatre asked driving the hone blade in.  Quatre felt the granddaughter stiffen of the insult to their men.

"No magic just the strong and viciousness inherent to all mercenaries," the Lady Dorothy replied tightly.

Lady Dorothy played the part of a meek maiden well.  Yet Quatre was not fooled the female was far from biddable.  If he was to marry the wench she and her grandfather was rule over him.

"A mercenary?"

"Your champion is said to be a mercenary," Lady Dorothy said snidely.

"In command of a small mercenary group.  He is highly desired and has his choice of lords to chose from each year."

"A mercenary, so he has no lands nor lord?" Quatre asked turning to the duke.

"None that he claims till now," the duke said frowning slightly.

Quatre looked at him smiling softly to himself.  The crowd hissed and jeered causing Quatre to look back onto the field.  There were two combatants facing his challenger.  That was unusual since most fights were one to one.

Quatre opened his mouth to protest however, Trowa easily avoid the two fighters.  He tossed one man onto the other.  The two went down hard.  The crowd roared their approval.

"He comes every year for the bout and then disappears," the duke said quietly.  "I believe it is to recruit new men."

"Recruit new men, not the prize money?" Quatre asked.  The duke shrugged and Quatre turned once again to face the field.

Painfully the men's companions hauled Trowa's two challengers to their feet.  The group turned facing Trowa.  He stood amongst them alone unarmed with his clothes torn and blood running down the side of his face.  Two more challengers came forward.

"Enough," Quatre shouted rising up from the stands.  "My favor," Quatre called out to the crowd.  "Has been earned today."

He leaped onto the field and sprinted over to the combatants.  "This bout does not honor your liege lord."

Quatre turned to Trowa gesturing for him to kneel.  Trowa fell to one knee at his side.  The blood had matted the hair on the side of his head.  His greens eyes were dull and full of pain.

Quatre caught Trowa under the chin and lifted his head up.  He leaned down and in front of the every one kissed him firmly and soundly on the mouth.  The kiss was hard and bruising.  Trowa's eyes widen in shock before fluttering closed.

Quatre looked down into his face—from the persistent tickle of recollection, memory sprang fully into his mind.  Once, long ago for a whim he had delivered a young lord from the greed of another.  At the time he saw the game Lord Dekim was playing on the young man.  He watched as the young man was slowly being stripped of his inheritance.  He remembered him.  He remembered the agony on his face when Lord Dekim had pressured him to place himself in his care—to give up his home.  He remembered when and where, an image stirred by the shock and embarrassed continence on his face.  Just so he had looked when he had accused him of being depraved.

He hesitated; shocked that he was about to do the same to him as Lord Dekim had planned.  "Fool, you have not learned," he whispered in his face.

"A splendid fight," Quatre said facing the crowd one hand upraised the other planted firmly on Trowa's head.  "As of today, you art vassal unto me.  Him and all his possessions my love I give.  I shall love and value thee as no other lord ever could."

As he declared the ritual words, old as the legends of King Arthur the throng burst into a frenzy.  The duke and his granddaughter blanched at the chosen phrase.  With that snare set he help Trowa to his feet then turned leaving Trowa alone in the field.

*     *    *

A fiend, he was.

Trowa stood beside one of the duke's family bust outside his private chambers.  He felt robbed.  He felt utterly pillaged.  Where was his lord?  Where was the unblemished angel he had fashioned himself after.  He had never believed him to be perfect—yet he always thought that it was he who had been shameful—he was perverse, with his yearnings and unwholesome desires.  Even as he strived for virtue he had dreamed about him in his bed or on the cold ground.  No, he had never thought he was worthy even when he denied himself release, he could not meet his measure.

He turned his head and rested his bandaged temple against the statue.  The cut burned as it pressed against the bindings.

The reality of Prince Quatre had been like a bucket of ice-cold water thrown in his face.  He was angry with himself but reserved his deepest fury and disgust for him—the fiend—he had probably ensorcelled him.  How else could he have managed to forget what he was?

An Archfiend that is what he was, curling like a silken tiger on a bed with his devil's get caressing him.  He could not even image the fair beauty he had once envisioned.  All he saw clearly were aqua eyes and a white flash of skin; all he felt plainly were wrath and anguish and the degrading burn of his body's appetite in spite of everything.

A fool he had called him.  He could hear it still, like an echo in the cold air of the hall.  He had taken his lands, his men, his every possession without a second thought.  He had called him a fool.

Earlier on the field he heard the men whispering, many thinking he had secured himself a rich patron that his gambled had paid off.  The prince's holdings were never targeted by the petty fights other border lords tended to have.  None would dare rile the king by openly attacking one of his beloved children.  While some frowned on such ambitions many mercenaries understood the need to secured a wealthy patron with few battles so one could live to enjoy ones wealth.

The door to the duke's office opened.  A page stepped out indicting that he should proceed in.  Trowa did not know what to expect.  He was amazed that he was still alive.  After the bout the duke had acknowledged him to the crowd.  The applause was reserved at best.  Normally he would be here to pick up his winnings or secure an assignment, if he was lucky he would be outcast if he was unlucky he didn't want to think about that.  Death could be better than torture.

The office was warm too warm as compared to the hall.  The dark furnishings shone with rich mahogany highlights.  Duke Dermay was not alone in the office he had his councilors, his clerks, and the captain of his guard.

Trowa bowed respectfully.

"Face us," said the duke in a tired voice.

Trowa peeked a look at the men surrounding him.  Their graves faces were easy to read so was the hostility emanating from them.  The duke was watching him soberly.

"As always it was a good fight," the duke said.

Trowa bit down on the need to explain himself.  "For the honor of the prince."  He replied simply.

The duke barked out a sharp laugh at that.  He eyes focus sharply on Trowa.  "He has made fools of us all, has he not?  That cunning sodomite."

"My lord's grace," a councilor cautioned.

"Ah, but my sentiment will not leave this chamber, if this fellow hopes to avoid my most grievous displeasure."

"My life is at my lord's pleasure," Trowa answered quietly.

"See that you do not forget it," the duke warned.  "Some here has counseled me that you are a spy.  That you have come with the intent of inflaming disloyalty and rebellion with this spectacle and that you conspired with the prince to weaken us to a border threat."

"Nay my lord," Trowa defended softly.

"Who stands behind the prince, spy?" shouted the captain.

"None," Trowa explained.  "I'm no spy.  His man told me to that he wished me to issue a challenge for his favor."

"Against the duke?" One of the councilors asked.  "And you took him up?"

"My lord, I meant no insult to you and your granddaughter.  I was to challenge all comers.  I am sworn to him, years ago—and far from here.  I never thought to see him again.  I was not even aware of his name until yesterday."  Trowa paused.  "I can't explain it.  I was very young."

The duke watched him his eyes full of speculation.  "Tell me what is it you hoped to gain?"

Trowa just shook his head quietly.

"A position, wealth, lands," the duke asked his voice rising with each word.  "A fine marriage for your whore's toll?"

"No," Trowa said his face lowered in shame.

"No, I don't believe _you_ would want such," the duke spat.  "Take your prince I want no more your presence in my lands.  Leave by morn tomorrow—everyone shall see you both alive and well as you depart."

*     *     *

Quatre and his small entourage waited right before the city gate.  He had brought three male servants, seven of his private guard, Duo and the ever-present Heero.  Behind him lay the distant fires and tents from the journeyers who had no lodging.  Out of the twilight came half a score of men, with Trowa in the front.  As per the duke's instructions they were ready to depart at sunrise.

Prince Quatre was reclined in a horse drawn leather covered litter.  The vehicle was large and cumbersome so even with four strong packhorses they would be lucky if they managed to clear the duke's land by nightfall.  The rest of his group was mounted except for his lover who lay beside him eating sweets.

The duke and a small assembly waited on top the post gates.  As they rode through the duke raised his hand in a formal bid of farewell.  His granddaughter was not present.  Quatre did not turn to acknowledge the man.  He didn't need to he out ranked him.

They did manage to reach the end of the duke's land by nightfall.  Trowa despaired that they would spend hour waiting on his prince's convenience, as he did not seem the sort to bestir himself with undue exertion but Prince Quatre's attendants outshone even his men-at-arms in their unpacking.

The prince's area was quiet there was no scurrying about to fetch a pillow or what not.  No one slipped away to linger or tend to any personal needs.  A lone guard stood on the entrance of the prince's tent.

The men he had were new to his command.  Trowa had hoped to work them out with a new lord before deciding which ones he would keep.  They were bedded down across from the small leather pavilion.  They ate a cold meal and settled for the night.

In the deepening night Trowa reached over and plucked his flute from his saddlebags.  He began to play a sweet, mournful song on wars and lost love.  It seemed to fit his mood his presence of mind.

Across from him the leather curtain flicked back.  Trowa's note faltered for a bare instant.  He lowered his eyes and kept on playing.  It was his lapdog, Duo.  To Trowa's surprise Duo walked over to him and plopped himself down.  He sat an arms length away giving him his profile.

"A love song, is it not?" he asked.

Trowa ignored him enclosing himself in his melody.  Duo sat a moment more.  "Have you ever been in love?" he asked next.  He didn't seem bothered by Trowa's lack of response.

Trowa continued to ignore him.

"Of course, a strapping man as yourself knows much about such things."  Duo leaned back finally facing Trowa fully.  He smiled his pretty face charming effortlessly.

"He has magic.  He can read into one's heart, my prince can.  He is Aphrodite's son."

Trowa lift a brow in disbelief, his only indication that he was listening.

Duo laughed.  "Ah, you are too astute for me.  You don't believe it."  With an abrupt intensity he leaned nearer.  "Think you to take him from me?"

Trowa's music wavered and fell silent.

Duo closed his eyes tightly.  "You have not the skill," he whispered.  "At ten and one I was train in such an art.  My previous lord spared no account in my lessons.  You can not compete."

It took a few seconds before Trowa completely understood his meaning.  He was shocked at such blatant speaking.  Such was a world beyond his experience.  He glanced at the solitary form of Heero Yuy standing in front of the prince's tent.

"I love him!"

Trowa eyes flew back to Duo's face, such devotion, although he had no choice in the matter.  Amid his shock Trowa felt disconcerted.  Whatever sacrifices he'd made they were his own to make.  He had not been force to bend to the will of another.

He lifted his lute to continue playing when Duo's hand shot out and forestalled him.  "Oh, I forgot.  I was to order you to cease that dirge and play something more pleasant."

Author's Note

Thanks for the reviews they are truly appreciated.  I wasn't sure if I should continue the story but I will.  I have 75 percent written so it will be posted fear not.  The most time consuming task is proofing this type of writing.  Also, I will endeavor to try and simplify the tone if the writing is too difficult or convoluted.

Ani


	5. Chapter 4

Dear Readers:

This fic is a trial to try my hand at romance.  This story is written in my favorite style of romantic writing, historical romance.  The wording may sound a bit awkward but it is done to create the feel of time and place—at least that's what I hope to achieve.

In this an epic tale the characters are desperate to find love in a world where your station in life dictates who you can love.  Wufei is portrayed as the antagonist, however make no mistake, I like every Gundam pilot their good attributes as well as their bad.  This story is rated PG-13 yet I caution readers for yaoi content and sexual references.

As always please let me know if you like what you read or even if you don't like it, and why.  Such feed back encourages and helps future projects.

Sincerely,

Ani 

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing and never will however I do enjoy writing fan fics although I don't make a penny off of them (truly).  Gundam Wing is own by Bandia and others.

Desperate Hearts

**Part 4**

At the next outlying village there were rumors that the lands to the south were plague ridden.  At Prince Quatre's command Trowa was to go amongst the people gathering information about the rumors.  Duo went to a fortuneteller in order to scry the truth.  Trowa quickly realized that the man had a morbid fear of plague.  He talked incessantly of nothing else.  When Trowa returned with news Duo had waited for him before the prince's accommodations.

"What befalls?" Duo demanded as they approached the prince's exotic guardsman, Heero.

"Nothing befalls, that I can tell," Trowa answered.

"Nothing?" Duo asked anxiously.

"He is to report to the prince, stand aside," said Heero holding out one hand to block Duo's way.

Since last night the guardsman had taken to watching them.  Trowa noted the sudden interest wondering why he would be concern with activities of the prince's lover.  He also realized that there was a lot of tension between the two.  Did his prince share his bed with others besides his favorite?  Trowa found that thought quite disturbing.

Trowa walked passed unchallenged.  The quarters they were given were simple.  It was a small village.  His prince was reading.  He was dressed much more sedate while they traveled so his usually deep cut shirts were closed to the neck and his adornments were few.  Trowa was not fooled by his subdued appearance.

"You come with news?" Quatre asked putting the book aside.

"I find no evidence of epidemic, my prince."

"You see, Duo, it is only gossip," Quatre said negligently.

Trowa started to withdraw but Duo caught his arm.  "No, the truth!" he demanded.  "What do you know?  Do not conceal it!"

"Do you hide something, sir?" Quatre asked sharply.

Trowa prevented himself from looking at him directly.  Out of his presence it was possible to feel disgust, but the very sight of him overpowered his better reason.  He was a vision.  His modest clothing only made it the worse.  There was more to him he knew it but that was not enough.  He feared that everything could not be enough.

"There is no plague," he repeated.  "It is but gossip."

"You are sure?  There's talk of planets aligned for it," Prince Quatre queried softly.

This news turned Duo white, "My Prince!"

"There is little enough of that," Trowa said trying to placate the panicked man.  "I vow the planets predict plague once a month.  The astrologers make their living on such."

"Not so," Duo said turning to Quatre.  "My prince has said the same."

"Yes, you must be careful love," the prince said.  "I am sensitive to such disturbances so you must be very careful.  There is an ill chance for you."

"They say it has appeared in the south," Duo exclaimed.

"Not this far north," Prince Quatre mumbled.  "At least not yet."

"Mayhap it is all talk," Trowa added.

"Not true in the deep south they say it raged there," Quatre told them.

"Then traders will bring it from the north," Duo piped in hurling himself on the bed.  "My prince let us flee."

"Flee where?"

"Away!" his voice had a frantic undertone.  "Towards the border."

"And suppose it follows us?" Quatre asked smiling at him.  "Maybe you wilt be fortunate to meet the heavenly father while you are still young."

Duo made a faint sound, his face turned white.  As he buried his face in his lap Trowa had begun to feel a certain compassion for Duo.  The indifferent way his prince mocked the man's mortal fears might have seemed casual but Trowa had caught the small cruel narrowing of his eyes as he looked down at his lover.  At that instant it was as if he hated him.

Suddenly Quatre's face softened.  He stroked his long braid.  "You are free to leave me," he said.  "Return to your home across the border."

"We are heading to the border?"

"Not I.  But I will send you to safety.  Heero can accompanied you there."

"No," Duo said his finger gripped in the folds of his dressing gown.

"Go home.  I could not bear to see your sweet skin swell and blacken," he murmured.  "I could not bear to hear your moans."

"I cannot leave you, my prince."

"The stars bring ill tidings.  Will you compel me to follow your bier?"

He gave a dry sob.  "You know I cannot leave you.  I beg you."

Prince Quatre sat back glancing a question at Trowa.

"As soon as your highness likes to venture forth," he said bluntly.  "But the weather is untoward.  Right now the roads are dry yet up north already hard winter has set in."

"How soon till softer climate?" He asked Trowa.

"Three months."

"Three months!" Duo cried.  He reached for the prince's hand and squeezed it.  "I'll be dead in three months, I feel it!"

Quatre looked at him for a long moment.  "I am in no hurry to leave."

"You taunt me!" Suddenly Duo seized Quatre by the shoulders.  His pretty face turned into mask of rage.  He leaned over him and kissed him hard.

Trowa saw that the prince had been pinned by his lover.  He grabbed Duo by the shoulder and hauled him off.  With a shove he sent the other sprawling backward into the guardsman.  Heero caught the courtier and restrained him.

"Master yourself, or you will find a grave sooner," Trowa hissed.

A soft snicker was heard from behind him.  "Ah, my fighter, it seems my companion is in want of manners.  Perhaps you might give him a lesson at your leisure."

Duo's face became deathly pale.  "My prince, do you love me so little?"  He panted every word.

Trowa's heart pounded at the implied suggestion.  He watched a new fear come upon the courier.  The man looked about to faint.

"I will leave such decisions to you my prince," Trowa said casting Quatre a hard glance.  He turned to leave.

Quatre lifted a hand to bid him stay.  "We will leave.  Heero begin preparations to depart for tomorrow."

"Tomorrow!" Duo breathed in relief.  "By secluded ways!  If it pleases my prince."

Quatre made an impatient flick of his hand.  "As you will."

Trowa gazed at him.  He was so beautiful and so wicked, laughing at them with that innocent face.  Trowa bowed and backed out of the room, his heart pounding at the thought of illicit desires.

*     *     *

"One…Heave…Hold…Two…Heave…Heave!"  Trowa yelled, driving the pack horses forward.  The animals threw their heads blowing great puffs of mists into the frigid air.

Easy enough for the prince to avoid lodging on the way north, he and his courier lay in the litter protected and screened by the thick leather covering.  Trowa let go of the horses and backed away.  The litter had pitched mightily yet still it went nowhere.  They had been struggling for hours now.  His men had cut down logs in order to pry the litter's wagon wheels for the muddy creek they had tried to cross.

The prince's private guard Heero swung off his horse into the icy mud.  Trowa winced in discomfort.  The man was stoic it was admirable.  Now knowing the rants and raves that went on between the prince and his companion he could appreciate his quiet and thoughtful demeanor.

He glanced at Trowa from where he was squatting down by the wedged wagon wheel.  He shook his head indicating this was not going to work.  They needed to empty the litter.

"My prince if you were to descend a moment I'm sure we will be on our way," Trowa told him through the leather enclosure.

"Are you certain," Quatre asked pulling the leather aside.

Both he and his courier were wrapped in thick white furs.  Quatre looked at the other and made a motion for him to descend.  Duo made a face then froze as Heero approached with one of their spare horses.

He quickly mounted pulling the reins of the horse away from Heero.  For the moment the two tugged at the reins for control.  "Heero please," Quatre said exasperated.

Heero released the reins.  He bowed an apology and moved aside and Trowa brought another horse for the prince.  Trowa went to assist Quatre but Quatre shooed him off.  For a graceful move Quatre swung into the saddle.  Everything would have went well if the horse did not shy at the last minute.

Trowa jumped down and caught the prince as he slipped.  He hardly realized he was standing to his ankles in freezing mud.  Almost as soon as he touched him he left his hold slipping back onto the horse.

Even though the layers of fur his body had felt so hot that it had stung his flesh.  Fiend, to burn so, he thought.  Just then Quatre leaned back and caught his hands.

"Thy hands are so cold!"

He jerked away.  He had remembered what he escorted, that the prince was hot with an unholy flame and he himself all too quick to set alight.  "My prince let us not tarry too long."

Quatre nodded and wrapped himself tighter in his furs.  He seemed unaware of what his nearness was doing to him.  They had come so far out of the way.  First going west for a few days then going east that Trowa started to suspect that the prince was actually lost.

Without the extra weight they were able to move the litter and journeyed on without mishap.  The prince decided to ride and abandoned his comfort to the dappled mare him rode.  He rode in the center of the road surrounded by his men but for all the world he seemed alone in his finery.

"What should we expect ahead," Quatre asked suddenly riding up beside Trowa.

"More marsh, bandits maybe even wolves," Trowa answered trying not to look at him.  "We should head for a main road."

"Duo will be tedious," Quatre said.

"Tedious?  I don't believe my prince has had much experience with outlaws, bogs and wolves," Trowa said solemnly.

"And you have not much experience with Duo," Quatre said with a wry laugh.  "He can be tedious still I would be please to see you in a warm bed, comforted.  Blue with cold, you are."

Trowa glanced at him suddenly.  His tone of voice seemed innocent of innuendo yet the meaning of the bed seemed a promise of unknown possibilities.  Trowa felt a deep timbre of desire in his flesh, fire breathed beneath his skin.  As they road together he thought wild thoughts that the prince prolonged the journey only to seduce him.

As light dimmed Trowa pointed out an area to camp for the night.  He went to the prince of help him down.  As the prince took his offered hand Trowa gazed at the fine elegance of his fingers and looked at his own hand holding him.  The contrast of his sun and work darkened skin sent a surge of carnal agitation through his body.

In a low voice, he murmured.  "So fair ye be my prince my will burns me."  Trowa wished to take it back the second it past his lips.

Quatre snatched away his hand in an instant.  "Sir I like not your gauche love-talking.  Save your wiles for a wife."

He words were coolly spoken.  Trowa felt mortify to be lectured by such as him.  He stiffened at the reprimand and bowed formally before stepping away.

Author's Note

Maria Gv.  You're interpretation on the part where Quatre recognizes Trowa is correct in both ways.  Since Quatre is a very cunning person he is good with strategy.  He was using Trowa like Dekim would have (in some ways) and he was using him to embarrass the duke so much so that they would get thrown out.

You're also right when you say there's more to this but I can't tell you without ruining it.  It's a romance so I have to put them through trials.  Be forewarned if you're a Wufei fan he is an antagonist in this story.

Thanks to everyone for their wonderful commentaries.

Ani


	6. Chapter 5

Dear Readers:

This fic is a trial to try my hand at romance.  This story is written in my favorite style of romantic writing, historical romance.  The wording may sound a bit awkward but it is done to create the feel of time and place—at least that's what I hope to achieve.

In this an epic tale the characters are desperate to find love in a world where your station in life dictates who you can love.  Wufei is portrayed as the antagonist, however make no mistake, I like every Gundam pilot their good attributes as well as their bad.

This story was rated PG-13 yet after writing further chapters I have raised the rating to R.  I am sorry if this inconveniences anyone.  Truly there isn't that much sexual content but I want to be on the safe side.  As before I caution readers for yaoi content and sexual references.

As always please let me know if you like what you read or even if you don't like it, and why.  Such feed back encourages and helps future projects.

Sincerely,

Ani 

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing and never will however I do enjoy writing fan fics although I don't make a penny off of them (truly).  Gundam Wing is own by Bandia and others.

Desperate Hearts

**Part 5**

During the night after the men had bedded down Trowa noticed Heero's unusual tenseness at his post in front of the prince's tent.  The prince's attendants had just left their arms burden with their lord's baubles and what not.

Heero spared them not a glance.  The man seemed agitated and kept glancing back behind him.  His normal stoic expression was grim with a frown upon his brow.

Reluctantly Trowa went to investigate.  He hated scenes and ravings immensely he did not want to come upon another between the prince and his lover.  As he approached Heero came to attention.  He stepped in front of the closure but not before Trowa got a glimpse of his prince inside.  He was lying amongst a pile of furs with his arms wrapped tightly about his courier.  They were kissing.  As Duo turned his unbound hair curtained their features blocking the rest of their love's play from view.

Trowa felt obscurely furious.  It was jealously he knew.  He was only an ordinary man, and ordinary men were supposed to have desire but his feelings for the prince were immoral.

When he looked back at Heero he felt the guard watching his men.  The frown was gone.  His normal stoic expression was back in place.

"Your men watch the prince's attendants with undue interest," Heero said softly.

It was meant to be a diversion from what the both knew was happening only a few feet away in the enclosure.  Still it was the truth, his men knew how rich their benefactor was and were not above stealing.

Trowa turned to see two of his men watching the attendants with undue interest.  He walked up to them allowing his anger for what he felt as his prince's betrayal be directed at them.  "You two will have the last watch since you value sleep so little," he snapped.

The two men were instantly attentive.  Their cunning looks disappeared into innocent expressions.  Trowa wasn't fooled they were up to something.

As Trowa sought his cold hard bed the tent and the deep furs behind him whispered hellfire on the nape of his neck.  His defenses crumbled against the endless question of why a common man must be denied.  Why, why must only the privileged have such privileges.

*     *     *

Quatre waited until he was sure they were alone and unobserved before pushing Duo away.  Duo rolled to the side easily.  He had whispered to him about the tainted jewels—again Heero tried for his life.  Quatre laid awake in bed thinking.  This was twice now Heero must be getting suspicious or desperate.

To Duo he had told that the end of this trip would be to a monastery.  To Heero he said that he would be heading to his wife's lands to secure and fortify them and that Duo was unaware of it.

Truly, Quatre waited for the moment when he could be rid of both of them.  He had directed his fighter in a fickle course, winding and turning toward the safety of a stronghold in his own lands.

He worked upon Duo's fears of the plague.  Like his fear of Heero it went beyond reason, Duo who had killed a man before his twelfth birthday, would tremble in fear from the plague.

So he thought, though sometimes he feared it was only another act.  Duo was a master at illusions.  Yet the safety of his fortress was nearly at hand.  Quatre turned gently in his feigned sleep.  Heero was standing guard watching him.  Quatre had no doubt that he was trying to betray his cousin Wufei.  Heero may be a bastard, however he had a strong claim to the land beyond the border.

Duo didn't need to tell him about the poisoned pin.  He knew that Heero would try again.  Of the two, Heero was the most dangerous.  Still it was strange that he had not killed Duo already.  He had to know Duo would hinder him if possible.

*     *     *

As Trowa laid in the dark with the fire fading, staring upward into the night sky, he had a bitter thought that it might have been to his advantage to take Duo as his prince had suggested.  Maybe he could have gained the other's attachment to himself.

Trowa prayed asking forgiveness of thinking such thoughts.  It was wrong to take someone against their will.  He also offered a prayer for the mortal sin of easing himself too.  For after viewing the prince and his lover he had been so overcome by lust that no sooner had he been under his blankets his right hand had stole into his breeches.

It had not taken him long to relieve himself.  His member had been hot and ready eager to release its burden.  As Trowa had brush the sticky fluid into his spare blanket he felt sullen and ashamed.  He should get away from him.  When it came to the prince he was lost, and even after being rejected if the prince were to rise and call him now into his tent, he would go.  He was shameless.

He slept badly, dreaming old dreams, in which he was lost and searching.  The howl of the wind brought him fully awake.  He lifted his head and noticed that the fire had gone to dead coals, there was no sign of the guards.  It was about two hours to dawn—the last watch.

Trowa slipped out of his warm place.  He stood up in the frigid night, sliding his feet into icy boots.  He'd ordered those two men the last watch.  A loose tie fluttered on the prince's tent.  Heero's back was pressed into the tent for warmth.  His chin rested on his chest.  The man had fallen asleep on his feet.

Trowa walked around the camp searching.  He found the two men a bit away.  He gave one of them a kick.  The man didn't move.  Trowa leaned down grabbed a blanket and tugged it away.  The man rolled over.  His body was twisted in the throes of death, his dead eyes rolled back to show the whites, his cheeks were peppered with dark spittle.

Trowa kicked the other man over.  He was in worse shape.  His face and neck were swollen and grotesque.  Trowa swallowed a gag and threw the blanket over the dead man's face.  He turned gasping for breath.  The fear of the plague held him frozen.

He glanced at the prince's tent.  Heero was standing up alert watching silently.  From between the leather flaps of the prince's tent a pale face peer at him, long strands a hair whispered around it in the pre-dawn mist.  Duo.

Trowa looked down upon the men and saw what his mind had not recorded a moment before in his panic.  One man clutched a handful of the prince's jewels.  A bloody knife lay near the other.  They had fought and one had knifed the other over the prince's jewels.  The other man seemed to have choked to death.  This was not the plague missing from the bloated faces were the black boils and the stench yes neither man had the putrid stench that plague carriers had.

Trowa glanced back at the prince's tent.  Duo was no longer peeking out.  Heero was still as if he had never moved, as if the man wasn't even breathing.  Trowa quickly tugged both men together rearranging the blanket to hide them both.  He thought furiously over way to prevent panic.  Duo's fears and preening had everyone on tenterhooks.  Trowa saw now he should never have suffered any talk of plague at all.  They should have taken a straight and direct road.

"Are they dead?"

Duo's choked voice had startled him.  The man had slipped past without him noticing.  He was dressed and wrapped in furs.  He had foregone braiding his hair in his haste.

"They murdered each other," Trowa said quietly.

"You lie!" Duo hissed.  "I saw them when you lifted the blanket!  One was warped with the black death's agonies.  He was swollen!"

"No, come see for yourself," Trowa said flipping back the blanket.  "There is no black boils, no stench."

Duo stumbled back with a cry.  The camp had come awake around them.  He knew they were all listening yet the area was deathly quiet.

"Listen to me.  This was no plague's death.  The smell not be of plague, there's no black boils.  Not just a few hours past they were fit and talking like the rest of you.  They fought and killed each other."

No one answered.  "Once, I saw it take a priest in half an hour."  Came a shaky voice from somewhere further in the camp.  "There were no black boils.  Right quick it was—he died over the man he had come to shrive."

"Silence!" Trowa hissed.  "They fought I say!"

They all simply stared at him.

"You two are on watch," Trowa said pointing to the men nearest him.  "You find the man who spoke and tie him up.  Ten lashes at first light.  Relight the fire and if any speak so loud as to wake the prince, tie him too and he shall have twenty lashes."  He swung around to Heero pointing at Duo in the shadows.  "You watch this one."

Trowa didn't noticed if Heero agreed or not for as he looked beyond Heero he noticed the prince standing at the tent's entrance.  He was pale and wrapped only in furs.  "My prince has been disturbed?"

"Indeed, he has."  It was the prince's amused voice.  "How could I sleep in this uproar?  What passes?  Where is Duo?"

His courtier didn't answer.

"My prince, it is nothing," Trowa said.  "I beg you to return to your sleep."

Instead Quatre walked closer to him, alone without his guards or attendants.  "What is it?" he asked sharply.

"Two of my men had died in the night," Trowa confessed.

He sucked in a sharp breath.

"My prince," Duo moaned in grief.  "Foresaw death on the road, you have.  It's the pestilence."

"No, my prince," Trowa argued.

The prince stood silent a moment then he lifted one hand, "uncover them."

Setting his jaw, Trowa leaned down and pulled away the blanket.  Let him look if he must.  May he choke on his own revulsion.

But Quatre did not flinched nor cringe.  Instead he went forward, gesturing, "a light."

No one move so Trowa fetched a lantern himself and lit it.  As light pooled across the bodies Quatre knelt and lifted the hand of the man still clutching his jewels, "poor man.  He must have suffered, I fear."

For a moment Trowa thought it was real, this sympathy, the echo of regret in his voice.  Then he rose turning towards Duo.

"Come to bed my love.  There is nothing to be done for them."  He walked towards his courtier.  Duo made a choked gasping sound and backed away from him.  "Come, do not be foolish the men died not of the plague."

"No," Duo said in a whisper of horror.

Trowa watched Quatre advancing slowly upon Duo driving the other in to a frenzy on purpose.  Only for the cruelty of it he did so.  For Trowa knew that the prince would not have touched them err he thought it was the plague.

"You must love me not?" Quatre murmured in a hurt voice.

"Touch me not!" Duo cried.  "Get away!"

The prince stopped swayed slightly.  He turned to Trowa.  "Help me for I suddenly feel not well."

Before Trowa could respond the prince fell to his knees.  Trowa moved on instinct, he raced to Quatre's side cradling his limp form in his arm.  He lifted the prince up shocked and mindless.  Fear hit him like a hammer.  He carried him into his tent and laid him on the bed of furs.  He then called for his attendants he thought he shouted it.

No one answered him.  In the utter darkness of the tent he groped for a lantern, fumbling in the dark he lit the lamp.  As the light rose, he looked towards the prince.

He was smiling at him.  He sat up on his elbows happy with his jest.  Trowa's jaw went slack then it stiffened in outrage.  He shoved himself off the ground, and stalked out of the enclosure.

"The prince is of fine health," he uttered angrily.  "I need two men to help for the burying."

In the tallow light no one moved.  Duo shrank even further into the shadows and even the prince's guard Heero stepped back from him.

"Damn you all," Trowa shouted.  Trowa took an extra horse and draped the bodies over it.  The creature did not like its burden and fretted as he strapped the men down.  He took him own horse and rode in search of a place to give them a proper burial.


	7. Chapter 6

Dear Readers:

This fic is a trial to try my hand at romance.  This story is written in my favorite style of romantic writing, historical romance.  The wording may sound a bit awkward but it is done to create the feel of time and place—at least that's what I hope to achieve.

In this an epic tale the characters are desperate to find love in a world where your station in life dictates who you can love.  Wufei is portrayed as the antagonist, however make no mistake, I like every Gundam pilot their good attributes as well as their bad.

This story was rated PG-13 yet after writing further chapters I have raised the rating to R.  I am sorry if this inconveniences anyone.  Truly there isn't that much sexual content but I want to be on the safe side.  As before I caution readers for yaoi content and sexual references.

As always please let me know if you like what you read or even if you don't like it, and why.  Such feed back encourages and helps future projects.

Sincerely,

Ani 

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing and never will however I do enjoy writing fan fics although I don't make a penny off of them (truly).  Gundam Wing is own by Bandia and others.

Desperate Hearts

**Part 6**

Quatre kept trying to go back to sleep but could not something kept pulling at his attention.  He opened his eyes and noticed that full light flooded the tent.  The brightness of it shocked him.  Then the difference of what was troubling him came to his attention.

The whole camp was unusually quiet.  His fighter always did his best to restrain the men from making too much a racket in their morning preparations attempting to serve his indolent prince.  However, this morn he had succeeded beyond his usual measure.  There was only a faint snicker from the horses, gone were the low talk and dragging sounds of packing and loading.

Quatre stretched and smiled in thought of his fighter.  He scorned him, this courteous and brave man, scorned him and desired him.  This was new to Quatre.  He was not accustomed to distain, especially from one that wanted him.

Pulling the furs about him he stood up.  There was still no sound from outside, nor was there any scent of food being prepared.  The strangeness struck him.  Quatre knelt by the tent's entrance and slowly peered out.  A horse nickered and there next to the animal sat his fighter.  Quatre felt a wave of relief.  He had imaged some gory tragedy had taken place.  He had half expected to see dead bodies all around.

As Quatre stepped from the tent he realized that they were alone.  Had Trowa sent the men ahead so that he may scold him in private?  No, that was too absurd.  Trowa would not do such a thing.

Quatre walked up to Trowa.  Trowa glanced at him as he approached.  He did not raise and greet him formally.  That sent a bolt of chagrin though him.  Never in his life had anyone ever sat in his presence without asking permission.

"They had fled," Trowa said simply.  They looked at each other for a moment and Trowa realized that he was sitting.  He suddenly got up and bowed.  "My prince—I beg your forgiveness."

"Fled?" Quatre interrupted him.  "All of them?"

He stared around the barren camp.  The only horses were Trowa's and a pack horse.  The camp was ransacked bags and bundles were open and scattered about.  They were truly alone.

"Duo?" he asked breathlessly.

Trowa's eyes darkened in anger.  "He is gone, my prince."

"Gone," Quatre echoed a hand clenched upon his breast.  "All gone.  How long do you suppose?"

"I know not.  Two hours, no more," Trowa surmised.  "The tracks—they scattered apart from one another.  Your personal guard and his men also.  This talk of plague—it inflamed a terror."

He was alone.  He was free.  He had done it.  He met the eyes of his fighter and saw what he thought of him.  He didn't care.  Let him think what he wants.  Those restraints place upon him by Wufei were gone or maybe not?

"Where went he?' Quatre asked.  "Where did they go?"

"I cannot say.  We can wait here.  Mayhap he will return.  They will return."

Quatre glazed at the sky and the empty grounds around him.

"I would seek him for you, my prince," he said, "but I dare not leave you alone."

"No do not leave me!" he said sharply.

Quatre looked about him again.  It was so strange—never had he been alone—never had he been without attendants.  Even when he was married his attendants slept on pallets within the large chamber—his personal guards were always within shouting distance.

"Nay, my prince, I will not leave you," Trowa answered.  "By haps they may return."

"I like not that idea," Quatre shivered.

"Nor I but were it not for your lo—" He had almost said "lover," but the word curdled on his tongue.  "—your courtier who unnerved them with his talk of plague."  Trowa left the rest unsaid.  He also didn't add that were it not for the prince's spiteful games this may not have happened at all.  "I believe that once they had moment to come to their senses they may return."

"We should not wait!" Quatre exclaimed.  But when he looked at him, it was a confused look, with no command in it.  "I never thought—I never meant for them all to go."

Trowa didn't say anything.  He was no more reasonable than his courier had been last night.  Like a wicked spoilt child he had taunted his playmates till they all ran away from him and now stood dumbfounded as to why they left.

"Will you break fast here, my prince?" Trowa asked.  He drew the prince aside and sat him down on a saddle.  He handed the prince a cup of ale and some bread.  Quatre drank a few sips and nibbled on the bread.

Trowa went about breaking down the camp.  He glanced towards the prince and realized he was not where he last left him.  He found the prince pulling out the stakes that held his tent.

"No, my lord," Trowa said in astonishment.  "I shall do the labor.  It's unseemly."

He ushered the prince away surprised that he had managed to pull the stakes out.  He was stronger than he looked.  Prince Quatre did not resist him and sat back down with his half empty cup of ale.

"When can we leave?"

"Early in the morn," he told him.  "I think a night in the woods may bring them back to their senses."

Trowa said no more for the rest of the day.  He finished packing and sat the prince down to eat.  He would eat later while the prince slept.  He laid out some cheese, fruit and more of the dry flat bread he had given him earlier.  From the prince's stores he pulled out a handful of sugared figs and candied nuts.

While the prince ate Trowa rested.  He had bedded down near enough to be of help if he should have need of him but far enough away that he was not in his private space.  As his prince ate Trowa found himself stealing looks at the other.  Never before had he been able to openly look at him—always the prince had hidden himself away so that Trowa found this new liberty heady.  When the prince wasn't looking he stared.  Quatre was truly beautiful, even with his hair ruffled and his face pink with cold.  He had this surreal look to him.

That night Quatre bedded down under the open night sky.  He slept alone distant from the camp Trowa had setup.  He envied Trowa his easy comfort.  He was still wound tight with the newness of his situation.  Trowa was up somewhere nearby keeping watch on the camp in hopes that their men may return.  For safety Trowa had forbade him from sleeping close to camp.

It was dark and Quatre couldn't see him.  No sooner that he had managed to sleep he was awakened by an urgent voice.  "My prince we must make haste," Trowa whispered harshly.

Quatre sat up slowly still muddled from sleep.  With a hiss of impatience Trowa slipped arms around him lifting him bedding and all.  Quatre's moaned of complaint was cut off when Trowa's arms tightened around him to silence him.

He tossed the prince onto the pack horse.  Finally Quatre awoke, he realized they were in danger.  There were voices coming from somewhere in the night.  He wrapped the furs tighter about him self and grabbed onto the saddle just in time as Trowa urged both horses into a fast trot.

Trowa had his hands full holding onto both the prince's reins and his own as he still had to maneuver both horses.  At times they galloped wildly through the forest twisting and turning along a nearly invisible path.

The sky had taken on the gray twilight of dawn as Quatre felt the horses slowing down.  "Last night?" He said.  It was the first time he had gotten to speak since they fled.

"The men had indeed returned to camp, my prince," Trowa answered solemnly.  "At knife point to the white fang bandits that haunt this area."  Trowa didn't say anything more than that he was upset that he couldn't save any of his men.  He didn't want to think about what those bandits would do to the prince's pretty courier.  The prince was his sole priority and right now his prince was in danger.  It wouldn't take much for the bandits to realize whose camp they found.  Trowa wanted as much distance as possible between them.

The prince asked no more on the subject.  He seemed lost in thought, as if he did not comprehend the truth of their situation even yet.  They came to a river with a ferry crossing.  The place was abandon.  As they drew closer Trowa noted the black flag tied to the burn out shell of a boathouse.  It seemed the plague did in truth reach here.

Neither of them said anything about the plague.  Trowa blinded the horses and led them onto the raft.  The prince stood silently watching him.  "Come my lord," Trowa said giving the prince his arm.

Trowa settled him down in the center of the raft between the two horses.  Trowa took up the pole steering them into open water.

Trowa took a landing several hours before dark.  He tried to maneuver the raft as close to the shore as possible but still had to wade though about two feet of water before pulling the raft close.

The prince had not move from his place between the horses.  He sat twisting his rings and staring into space.  Trowa assisted the prince onto dry ground and like before he stood there blankly waiting as Trowa unloaded the horses.

"The boatsman, he died from the plague," Quatre asked quietly.

"Yes, my prince," Trowa said gently.  The desertion, the sudden peril, the quick transition from rich comfort to sudden vulnerability was enough to make any succumb to distress.

He sat down hard on the sandy bank.  "It's all my fault.  I brought it down upon us."

Trowa froze at the words.  All his suspicions rose to the fore.  His immoral behavior, his seductive nature, he was a fiend.

"I teased Duo so," he said biting his lips one hand clenched over his heart.  "Now he's dead or worst pestilence comes.  I am being punished.  I brought it upon us."

Trowa's suspicions disappeared into exasperation.  "My lord I don't think that all mankind is too suffer the plague as punishment for your silly wickedness."

"Oh, be it that my sins are so trifling?  May hap I should be blamed for the excess of lice this winter."

"Certainly you can be blamed for our current situation," Trowa muttered.  "My liege lord."

Quatre looked surprised at his boldness.  "You are a saucy knave, hid behind a courteous façade.  May hap you would like to take me to task?"

Trowa's mouth tightened at the taunt.  He knew better than to goad with such a debauched creature.  Nevertheless the taunt did nothing to repel him.

Quatre no longer looked like a prince.  He held his furs awkwardly about his shoulders.  His fingers were pale against the rich aqua gems.  The cold had made his cheeks pink and lack of sleep had place dark shadows under his eyes.

He seemed more human.  It made him more reachable.  Trowa felt his body respond at his words.  With a sudden move he turned his face away from him and gathered the horses reins.


End file.
